


just in time to live a life

by moiraes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s11e12 Don't You Forget About Me, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 11, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5849599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moiraes/pseuds/moiraes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire had that look on her face again, the one she’d been unsuccessfully smothering since she and Jody had found the Impala in their driveway. “All right,” Dean said as he passed her another plate, “spill. I know there’s something you’ve been dying to talk about.”</p><p>She hesitated, then carefully set the plate and towel both down. “Has something happened to Castiel?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	just in time to live a life

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen several people writing pre-codas (aka fic set in/post an episode that hasn't aired just based on spoilers from promos and stuff) and it sounded like fun so why not.
> 
> Title from Wang Chung's "Fire in the Twilight" for no reason other than it's another song in the Breakfast Club :P
> 
> Minor spoilers for 11x11 and 11x12.

All throughout dinner, Dean tried his hardest not to think of the last time he’d had a “family dinner”, and how quickly things had gone downhill. He wanted to scoff at the notion -- eating a home-cooked meal and sitting around a table like a normal family when they were anything but. They were two hunters, a cop-slash-hunter, an ex-vampire, and a girl who’d once briefly housed an angel, and just three hours ago they’d all been covered in blood and brandishing weapons. Playing house like this should feel like a sham, like Victor Rogers’ operation a few years back. But instead it felt real, almost comfortable, even if he was truly on the outside looking in. They had a good thing going here, and for once, Dean was optimistic.

Alex had helped do the cooking, so Claire was on clean-up duty. Dean hadn’t missed the glances she’d been throwing him all day -- clearly there was something on her mind -- so he decided to bite the bullet and grab the rest of the dirty plates, following her into the small kitchen. “I’ll wash and you dry?” he offered, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up.

“You know, I’m a big girl. I can wash dishes all by myself and everything,” she said, but the smile on her face held little of the sharpness it once had.

“Come on, take advantage of the free labor.” He grinned when her only answer was to roll her eyes and throw a sponge in his direction.

There was something domestic and soothing about washing dishes, he had learned. When they’d first moved into the bunker, and he’d begun experimenting in the kitchen, he’d fully expected to be annoyed at the mundane task. Sam had even (somewhat reluctantly) offered to do dishes if Dean was going to cook, but Dean had found that he strangely enjoyed it. It was repetitive enough that it didn’t require much focus, but it made him feel as close to “normal” -- whatever the hell that was -- as he’d ever been. He understood now why Lisa had never foisted the job onto him.

They were quiet for a minute or two, the only noise filling the kitchen the clink of plates and the sounds of the sponge and the water, but there was an expectant edge to it. Sure enough, when he glanced over in Claire’s direction, she had that look on her face again, the one she’d been unsuccessfully smothering since she and Jody had found the Impala in their driveway. “All right,” he said as he passed her another plate, “spill. I know there’s something you’ve been dying to talk about.”

She hesitated, then carefully set the plate and towel both down. “Has something happened to Castiel?”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“You can tell me, you know. If he’s... whatever.” She was clearly attempting to come off nonchalant, shrugging as she turned away to pick up the towel and plate again like she didn’t care about the answer one way or another, but Dean saw it for what it was. She was worried. “I mean, it’s not like he’s actually my family or anything.”

Her voice wavered almost imperceptibly when she said it, though.

“Why would you think something happened to him?”

Her frown deepened. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

But Dean could only think of the last time he’d seen Cas, how the quiet warmth that underlined most of their interactions had been absent, replaced by a coldness that had blazed behind his eyes. They’d long ago mastered the art of dancing around the edges of a conversation, saying only what they needed to and willfully ignoring the remnants of a thousand different unresolved tensions. But the stilted staccato of their last conversation had kept Dean off-beat all week, wondering where he’d missed a step. Little things: the strange reaction to Dean’s admission of a connection with Amara, the mess he’d left in the bunker when he was usually so orderly, the way Dean’s skin had prickled when Cas had reached out to touch his shoulder. He’d told himself he was overreacting. And _especially_ in the wake of Mildred’s pointed observation, he’d been doing his hardest not to think. “Claire.”

She kept her eyes down, focusing on rubbing the already-dry plate, but when he didn’t turn back to the dishes, she folded. “It’s just. Ever since he broke me out of the group home, he’s been trying to like, I don’t know, be my friend or weird replacement pseudo-dad or something. Way too hard, most of the time.” She gave him a wry smile, but it looked forced. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he’s kinda a doof.” It had been almost a year since Dean had last seen her. She was nearly nineteen, but whether it was the more muted makeup, the pigtails she wore her hair in, or the glimmers of fear in her eyes, she somehow looked far younger now. “Anyway, he’d like, send me all these stupid texts, talking about a bird he’d seen that day or some stupid cat video, or just a fu- freaking string of emojis.” She snorted. “It was kinda annoying, you know? But then a few weeks ago he just... stopped. I sent him a couple texts just to tell him I was alive and to tease him about dropping the ball. That since he stopped texting me maybe I’d go out and try to rob another store and it’d be all his fault for not entertaining me with YouTube or whatever.”

Dean wanted to laugh at the mental image of how Cas would have (should have) reacted to that, but he couldn’t. It was clear from Claire’s expression that she thought something was really, truly wrong.

“I mean, he texted back once or twice but it wasn’t really.... It was like he was suddenly the lame ‘I am an angel of the Lord’ Castiel again.” She accompanied her words with robot arms, and it should have been amusing, but it really wasn’t. “It was weird. Bad weird, not the good weird he usually is. And if you tell him I called him a good weird I’ll kill you.”

The joke was out of his mouth before he could think twice about whether it was appropriate. “Maybe this time don’t try to get strangers to do it for you.”

Luckily, her only reaction was a startled laugh. “No, trust me, I’d do it myself.” She flashed him a smile that was all teeth. “Jody’s taught me a few things.” In only a few moments, her face sobered again. “So he’s okay?”

“I...” How was he even supposed to answer that? He didn’t want to worry her, not when there was no reason to, but he was fairly certain that if he tried to tell her everything was fine, it would come out sounding like a lie. “I saw him like a week ago, texted him a few days after that. He looked fine, if that helps.”

“Looked?” She was more perceptive than he thought teenage girls were supposed to be. “So does that mean he’s _not_  fine?”

Dean sighed. “Look, he had a rough day a while back.” He didn’t elaborate that the ‘rough day’ involved the literal devil and God’s evil sister. “It shook all of us up. But I’m sure he’s fine. He’s always fine.”

She snorted, more of the derision he’d come to expect from her coming out. “What show have you been watching?”

What? Yeah, Cas had taken more than his fair share of hits like the rest of them, but he always landed on his feet. He didn’t get bogged down by the angst and trauma like he and Sam did, the lucky bastard.

He was still trying to figure out how to respond when she took pity on him. “Fine. Look, I know this is asking a lot, what with you and your macho bullshit -- don’t give me that look, Winchester, I’ve heard plenty of stories -- but just. Be careful with him, okay? He’s more fragile than he looks.”

“Cas? Fragile?” He scoffed. “Have you met him?”

It was obvious Claire was getting more and more irritated. “Yeah, okay, he’s a bad-ass with a blade, but he’s pretty much a lost little puppy on the inside. I would’ve thought _you_  of all people would know that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He can’t tell whether he was more uncomfortable by the insinuation or the nagging feeling that Claire might be more right than he’d like to admit.

“Your like, _bond_  or whatever. Ugh, it’s just weird, okay, he’s in my dad’s body and -- whatever, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

That made two of them. Dean could feel his face beginning to burn. He itched to turn back to the sink and be done with this. 

Judging by Claire’s fidgeting, she was pretty much in the same boat. “So I guess. If he’s done being ‘shaken up’ or whatever and wants to know, you can tell him that I’m fine. Alex is kickass. Jody thinks _I’m_  actually a good influence on _her_ , which is hilarious. So he doesn’t need to, I don’t know, worry or anything.” 

It was clear that it wasn’t Dean she wanted to say this to, but if Cas was being radio silent, he’d listen for him. It wasn’t his place to tell her that he was happy for her, that he hoped she was happy here, that she deserved some peace and stability, or all the things he imagined Cas would say. Instead, he just smiled. “Jody and Alex are good people.”

“Yeah,” she said, and he politely ignored how choked up the word sounded.

They turned back to the dwindled stack of remaining dishes, silently and unanimously agreeing that the moment was over.

“Just. Remember what I said about looking out for him?” Or, almost over, at least.

“Yeah.” Yeah, he remembered. He also remembered how not two weeks later, he’d nearly beat Cas to death. How Cas had been cursed, tortured, and betrayed by one of the only angels left that he’d considered family. How he’d holed up in the bunker for weeks, barely coming up for air until Sam and Dean had had to more or less plead for help locating some information. How he’d more or less told Dean he planned to dangle him like bait for Amara, of all things, like that wasn’t the last plan Dean had ever expected to hear him offer.

Her eyes were deadly serious. “Might want to make sure you’re doing your job.”


End file.
